


Double dealer

by moonflow



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Conflict, Gen, Tension, boss obviously has a crush on johnny but its just sorta hinted at, it's mostly focused on my ocs, mentions of drinking and getting drunk, one oc gets Really Pissed at my boss oc and he has to think about his life, stephen and sivan are also ocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflow/pseuds/moonflow
Summary: Zel Wiley is a proud member of the Third Street Saints... but not proud enough to display that fact to Matt Miller, who thinks that they're a proud member of the Deckers instead. Seems they slept past their alarm at his place, and the Saints anniversary is that night. They'd better get back before the boss realizes what they've been up to.
Kudos: 1





	Double dealer

"Zel...?" 

They awoke from slumber with a jolt, clutching a thin blanket that hadn't been there before close to their chest. Eyesight focusing in the dark as best as it could, the Saint turned their head to where their partner sat beside them on the couch, giving them a lopsided smile. 

"You fell asleep," he explained, stating the obvious. "It's around midnight, and I'd just remembered that you said you had to be back by then; I'm sorry. It just slipped my mind." 

The growing panic in their features made his smile melt and turn into an anxious expression, brows upturning. It was this that made them freeze, entire body still save for their heart pumping erratically in their chest. 

They had fallen asleep. 

On the night of the Saints anniversary. 

Sleeping in the house of the leader of the Deckers. 

With their boss' bike outside. 

The young man started when his lover released a long, somewhat dramatic groan as they slumped forward on the couch. Their knees bumped against the coffee table, head resting where their rear had been seconds earlier. "I'm so fucked." 

"You're not fucked!"

"Matt, I have my boss' bike." 

"Okay, maybe you're a_ little_ fucked." 

They turned their head over to him, unamused. 

"But just a little!" 

Sighing, the sound wearier this time, they shoved themself into a standing position and let the blanket he'd placed upon them fall to the ground. Just great. They'd have to get to a store to change back into Saints clothes, they'd have to drop Lucien's bike off at the garage, they'd have to come up with an excuse and deal with the awkwardness of the party, given it wasn't over when they got there – 

"Christ, Zel, you look like you're about to faint." 

A hand was tentatively placed on their shoulder, their head turning to look at it and following it up to the face of the man it was attached to. 

Matt Miller was an odd little fellow in the nicest of terms. He seemed perpetually stuck in the year 2012, whatwith his slicked back hair with lipstick even darker than the dyed black locks. Naive at the best of times and idiotic at the worst, he held a charm to him that almost always lead to him being an absolute pushover. He was also the leader of the Deckers. 

One of the many gangs that would shoot any Saint on sight that looked at them wrong.

Something that Zel definitely was, and something that Matt definitely didn't know about. 

"Take in a breath, love. Why don't you just call them and they can come pick it up? Then you could just go back to sleep. It's not like we're at headquarters," offered the man, giving them another nervous little smile. It was true - the latter part, anyway. They were at his house, not any of the Decker strongholds, but that didn't keep them safe. The Saints would obviously know where the personal homes of higher ups would be; Steelport gangs were like that, unfortunately enough. Privacy was not an option for any of them. 

"Can't," they replied with a shake of their head, gently shrugging his hand off. A pit of guilt began to form in their stomach when it fell to his side, the man looking disheartened at their visible anxiety and the fact that he couldn't help quell it. 

Expression softening, Zel exhaled quietly and turned to face him fully. "Sorry. I just... should probably go before I'm any later than I already am. Don't want them to call me and get pissed off about the bike and all." 

"You _do_ know that I could just loan you one of our cars, right?" Matt offered with a loose shrug. "You're entitled to one by proxy for being in the gang, but you've never used one." 

They exhaled, stepping past him and around the couch as they grabbed their coat, pondering if it could cover up the blue and pink accents of their clothes if they zipped it up enough. "You know me, Matt; I like laying low. Besides, you know I'm a shit driver." They pulled their arms through the sleeves, fidgeting with the zipper and knitting their brow. "Wouldn't want to fuck one of your cars up. Stupid thing, come on..." 

A pair of pale hands briefly moved over theirs, nudging them aside as Matt took hold of the zipper and carefully, after a couple of tries, zipped it all the way up to their chin. They met eyes for a moment, both taking in a quiet breath before Matt cleared his throat and replied, "They, ah... they're armored for a reason." 

Zel released a quiet exhale, unable to hide the surprisingly soft smile that grew upon their face at his sudden flustered demeanor. Raising a hand, they tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and leaned in for a quick peck on his lips. 

As his cheeks grew pink in the dim light of the room, they said carefully, "Still. I'm better on a bike than in an armored car. I'll text you soon, but I really have to go now. Cool?"

"Cool," the man replied with a little gulp and nod to match. 

Zel gave his cheek a pat before stepping aside and walking to the front door. With a small wave, they stepped out and closed the door behind them. 

And sprinted to the hot pink bike parked outside as fast as their legs could carry them, practically jumping into the seat. 

They fumbled with their coat pockets before yanking out a key and shoving it into the ignition, the motorbike roaring to life. Foot firmly on the pedal and hands on the bars, they prayed to whatever god might exist that they didn't crash and make an even bigger mess of themself, and revved the engine to shoot down the road. 

Steelport was beautiful at night. Even with the undesirables roaming the streets, dealers huddled in alleyways, or Morningstars carrying guns on the sidewalk, if you looked past the dingy roads and smoke clouds from cars, you would be greeted with a beautiful view. The buildings were almost always tall and lit, with electronic billboards looming over city streets and illuminating them with color. Even the sky had a subtle purple tint to it, and while it was likely just from the lights, the Saints always liked to joke that it was just another clear indicator that it was their city and no one else's.

Teeth gritted so tightly their jaw was aching, Zel sped through a red light and yelped as a car nearly hit them in the process, struggling to stay in the right lane. Sweat was beaded on their brow and their heart beat erratically in their chest, gripping the handles of the bike so tightly that it wouldn’t be surprising if they left indents in the rubber. Why the hell couldn’t they have set an alarm to wake them up? Granted, they hadn’t expected to fall asleep, but Matt had put on one of those old sitcoms he liked so much, and…

When the familiar glow of the Planet Saints building greeted them, they couldn’t have slammed on the brakes harder. The front wheel stopped mere inches away from slamming into a newspaper dispenser resting on the sidewalk, Zel kicking the brake and hopping off before dashing inside. 

The music inside, due to the late hour, was much more mellow than it tended to be during daylight. Somehow, Zel wished that it _had _been loud and obnoxious; at least it wouldn’t leave them with their own thoughts as readily. They grabbed randomly from the racks and ended up with a simple t-shirt and shorts, then stepped into the dressing room. The door slammed behind them, the dozing clerk behind the counter as unphased as they ever were.

Falling back onto the small bench inside, they yanked their pants off followed by unzipping their coat, tossing it onto the floor without a care. As they yanked their shirt up and over their front, their phone tumbled out of its pocket and onto the bench beside them, the movement causing it to illuminate.

A tiger with its nose far too close to the screen stared up at them, along with far, far too many missed messages and calls.

They’d put their phone on silent.

“Shit, shit, shit,” muttered the Saint, angrily fidgeting with the strap of their binder before yanking the tee over their head and pushing their arms through the sleeves. Figuring multitasking was their best bet, they quickly unlocked their phone and went to the voicemails, pushing the indicator to play all of them.

“_Seven missed voicemails.”_

“Great.”

There was a long beep, followed by the voice of Pierce, speaking loudly into the phone over the sound of heavy bass music boosting through what was presumably the penthouse. Either that, or the Broken Shillelagh. Lucien hadn’t been clear on where the celebration was going start and where it would end. “Zel, where the fuck are you? We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours – you didn’t crash again, did you? Nah, not on the night of the – hey, watch it!” His voice was slightly slurred, the bite to his snappy remark too dulled to have any real effect. Definitely the Shillelagh. “Listen, just call _someone_ when you can, right? Later.”

They tugged the shorts on, followed by a fresh pair of socks they’d grabbed at the last minute, yanking the fabric up their shin as the phone beeped again.

Sivan’s voice. “Zel where are you?”

Beep. Sivan again. “Zel please pick up.”

Another beep. Sivan a third time. “Zel I’m not trying to be a nag but a lot of the guys here are drunk and you’re usually the one to shoot the ceiling and tell everyone to shut up and the lady at the bar who’s probably really cold in that outfit won’t stop staring at me.”

The other sock was tugged on. Beep. “Zel I’m too young to die.”

Amidst the anxiety swirling in their stomach, they couldn’t help but give a roll of their eyes as they laced up their shoes. At least that explained the multitude of missed messages. But there were still two more voicemails, and the dread in their chest was getting heavier by the second as the number of messages left ticked down.

A beep was heard. They tensed, but it was just Shaundi. “Listen, kid, if you wanted to skip out on the party, we could have gone out and planned something together, but this is a big night, and the boss really wants you here. We all do; you’re part of the family, for crying out loud.” The background noises dimmed a bit as she presumably moved into another room, speaking more tenderly into the microphone just as Zel got to their feet and picked their coat up. “I don’t know what you do when you sneak out like this, but… if you won’t tell anyone else, you can tell me. I just want you to be safe.” 

Zel stopped in the middle of pushing their arm through one of the coat’s sleeves, taking in a breath and not realizing how watery it was. Shaundi ended the message by saying goodbye and hanging up, the enby swallowing down the anxiety and stress trying to overflow in the form of tears. They didn’t have time for any of this.

They leaned into the mirror, squinting at their reflection for anything off. A black kiss mark rested on the right of their jawline, Zel reluctantly tucking their hand into their sleeve to move it up and rub it off just as the final voicemail played with a monotonous beep preceding it.

Their shoulders tensed, hand stalling.

“Zel, mon camarade, where is my bike?”

* * *

Tech beats blasted throughout the vast penthouse, partygoers mingling amongst themselves. Some held drinks in their hands, others were absentmindedly swaying to the music, and many were doing both at once. Confetti and streamers in various shades of reflective silver and deep, opaque purple littered the ground. The crowd was dense, as every other stronghold had emptied out to come to the headquarters to celebrate, though it made it _very_ hard to maneuver with drinks in hand.

A bit of liquid sloshed out of the glass held in the young man’s left hand, resulting in him cursing under his breath as he scooted by a couple draped over each other and miraculously still standing upright. Carefully scooting over to the door leading outside and nudging it open with his shoulder, he took in a gulp of fresh air and walked around the massive pool before him.

Not many people where outside, but a few lounged in the water or mingled amongst themselves in deck chairs. One was passed out, arms draped over the sides and dragging along the concrete ground with his hat over his face. 

_Nice job, Pierce_, thought the man with a quick roll of his eyes. Hopping carefully down the stairs to the helipad, he stepped up to the two people sitting rather precariously at the far end, legs dangling over the edge. 

“Two piña coladas, gents,” he greeted, both starting slightly and looking over their shoulders. The one with magenta hair grinned broadly as the drinks were held out, taking one and swirling the straw with a grin. 

“Thank you, Stephen,” he said, popping the straw in his mouth with a small grin up at the man. Swallowing, he exhaled. “Perfect. Just what I needed for these nerves…”

His companion quirked a brow, peering down at his own glass. “Y’know, Luc, if you wanted to calm down, a girly drink like this isn’t gonna cut it. Oh, and thanks, Steve.”

“Anytime,” replied the younger man, still smiling in Lucien’s general direction for a good few seconds before forcing himself to turn and walk away. The gang boss exhaled and held his glass in both hands, staring ahead at the view before him.

To the general public, Lucien Coste stuck out like a sore thumb. Iridescent pink hair that reflected in the city lights, heavy eye makeup that bordered on excessive, high heeled boots with painted nails– even by Steelport standards, it was a little strange. Regardless, it never seemed to bother him. Often times he was too busy to worry about trite things like that; there were always more important matters at hand to ponder.

Like where the hell his bike was.

“It tastes better than the alternative,” he finally replied, sticking the straw in his mouth and simply letting it rest there. “Besides, I don’t want to get drunk.”

“Biggest night of the year, and you’re wasting the opportunity to let loose?” his friend snorted, tossing the straw behind him and sipping from his own glass directly. “It’s your call, man.”

“I’d rather have a clear head when Zel comes back, Johnny; I’m worried enough as it is.” Lucien exhaled, neck craning back to look up at the pitch-black sky above them, the thick darkness permeated with shades of violet. “Maybe I should go look for them. They wouldn’t have ditched this without letting me know.”

Johnny tapped his fingers against the glass, the latter of which looked comically small in comparison. “They’re probably just off doing whatever; they’re fine.”

“But why take my bike?”

“_Everyone_ takes your bike, Luc.”

“I mean, it’s a lovely bike, but it seems odd to me that they would take it on this night of all nights. You don’t think that they’re going to sell it, do you?”

The man released a snort of laughter at that, the hold on his glass wobbling a bit in the process. “Come on. We’re all loaded; why would they want to sell _anything? _There’s no point.”

“Mm.” The enby exhaled shortly through his nose, taking another long sip of his drink – perhaps on purpose. At the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes at Johnny’s visible annoyance, that seemed to be the case. At last, he swallowed and remarked, “Well, we all have a joint account of sorts. It’s possible that they’ve opened a second personal account and don’t want it to be traced back to us…”

“What, for drugs or something?” asked his companion with yet another raised brow. “They don’t seem like that kind of person. Honestly, Luc, you’re worrying too much. Hell, they’re probably back there in the party somewhere yukking it up with Zimos.”

“You know they hate Zimos.”

“Sivan. Giya. Fuckin’ Pierce – “ 

“Pierce is blacked out by the pool.” 

“Look, the point is that you’re overthinking this,” replied the man. He downed the rest of his drink, placing the glass beside him. “Your car’s probably in the garage right now. Bet they shined it up for you and everything.”

Lucien, still sipping at his half-empty drink, pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and flicked it on. After a couple of careful taps, his brows raised a bit as he finally replied, “Huh. Seems you’re right.”

“Wait a second. You had a tracker on that thing?” asked Johnny, flabbergasted. “Why were you stressing over it so much, then? It’s not like you to pull my leg.”

“I was not pulling on anybody’s leg,” replied Lucien, turning the phone off and placing it back in his pocket. “I simply didn’t want to invade Zel’s privacy.” Scooting away from the ledge, he pushed himself up to a standing position and exhaled. “Suppose I should go greet them. Here, finish this up for me.” 

He leaned down and handed his confused friend the rest of his drink before turning on heel and walking away, briskly climbing the short stairway leading to the pool and balcony before heading inside.

A round of hellos greeted him as he stepped into the fray, the Saint having to politely decline any offers to mingle as he scooted through the crowd of people over to the far wall and jabbing the button for the elevator. Hands in his pockets, he waited for it to rise, absently chewing on his lip.

The light illuminated, the elevator dinged, and the doors parted.

To say that Zel looked like a deer in the headlights was an understatement.

“H-hey!” they greeted a little too forcefully with an attempt at a casual smile. “Sorry I’m so late; lost track of time, and my phone was on silent.”

His brows raised alongside a smile, but it didn’t seem to quell their visible anxiety any. “It’s alright; it happens.”

“Yeah,” they replied, reaching down to tuck a hand into their shorts pocket. “Just got caught up hanging out with an old friend I found while I was out; you know how it is.”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, stepping forward into the elevator and leaving them too conflicted to leave themselves. Obviously, he wanted them to come with him, and that knowledge was causing a bead of sweat to grow on their brow.

Lucien pushed the button to go back down to the garage, and as the doors closed, he continued as casually as could be, “I was not aware that you and Miller were such good friends.”

The elevator may as well have stopped with how still they felt in that moment. Their breathing stopped, their eyes bulged, and they stared ahead at the buttons next to the closed doors. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now; you think I wouldn’t keep tabs on my vehicles?” he replied with a casual smile that only served for their heart to beat more erratically in their chest. “You must not know me at all, Zel.”

They swallowed hard, Adam’s apple visibly bobbing in the process, and asked as steadily as they could, “Then why the hell did you leave me that voicemail and those texts?”

He shrugged as the elevator stopped and the doors opened to the garage. Stepping outside, he left Zel no choice but to follow. “It was a valid question. I simply asked where my bike was; I didn’t know if you would sell it off to the Deckers for a quick buck or something of the sort.” 

A hot pink bike, untouched, sat in its usual parking space. Lucien approached it with Zel following behind, hands shoved into their pockets and biting down on their lip, hard enough to nearly draw blood. Running a hand over the front of it, Lucien peered at the vehicle’s reflective surface for any dents, smudges, or cracks, index finger tracing over the white markings. “But then I noticed that you were spending quite a lot of time there; I check my phone at six, it’s at Matt Miller’s house. I check it at eleven-thirty, it’s still there. If you wanted to be discreet, the least you could do is take someone else’s ride, mon ami.”

Glancing at them out of the corner of his eye, they seemed conflicted, as if they were unsure of what they could and could not say. Perhaps they couldn’t find the words to begin with. They wetted their lips, inhaling sharply before replying, “Listen, I just… I just wanted to try and arrange some sort of deal with Matt. Maybe he could form some kind of truce; anything to keep his goons from shooting us in the middle of the street – “ 

“Matt, hm?” Lucien interrupted, though his tone was more playful than stern. “You’re on a first name basis with him now? How funny.”

“Can I finish? Please?” they asked in an unintentionally snappy tone, raising a hand and yanking their fingers through their spiked green locks. With a shaky exhale, they continued, “We got distracted. Starting talking about…” They chewed on their lip again, “this stupid rivalry shit. There are so many gangs in Steelport, and I know we’re trying to weed them out, but it’s stressful when it’s three against one, for God’s sake! Even you have to agree with that!”

“I do, yes.”

At his calm expression and inquisitively raised brow waiting for them to continue, Zel only sighed and let their hand fall back down to their hip. “Look, the point is that it didn’t work and I lost track of time. Alright?”

“Certainly,” replied Lucien, a finger tapping against the handle of the motorbike before him. “And I’m assuming that the cloth around your arm there was a gift from him? Or did you wear it in to get his favor?”

Zel visibly froze, peering down at their left arm. They’d donned a blue and pink armband, black accents running around it. Cursing out loud, they gritted their teeth and forced the urge to ball their hand into a fist, wracking their brain for a response. Finally, at a loss, they said in a voice weaker than they would have liked, “Listen, it’s because Matt – “ 

“I know you have some sort of explanation for this,” he interrupted again, giving a light shrug. “But I know you wouldn’t betray the Saints, so I’m really not that worried. As long as you’re safe, and as long as my darling is safe.” He patted the bike’s handlebar for emphasis at the last bit.

A silence fell between them. Zel was squinting at them in confusion, and finally asked after a few seconds of silence, “… You’re not pissed?”

“Not even heated, no.”

They hesitated. “But I could be moonlighting as a Decker for all you know! How the hell are you not angry?”

He shrugged again, raising a hand to absently pick at the lower end of the scar crossed over his face. “It’s like I said. I trust that you wouldn’t ever do anything to harm this organization, so whatever it is that you’re doing, it doesn’t really matter to me.”

Their chest felt like a balloon that had just deflated. Visibly, they were struggling with their emotions. They should have been relieved and grateful, leaving him with a “thanks, boss” and proceeding to spend the rest of their night getting blackout drunk. Despite knowing this, all Zel could do was stand there, brows knit so tightly they were nearly trembling.

“You should be angry,” they said slowly, more to themself than to Lucien. “You should be pissed off and suspicious and weirded out; you’re not worried at all?”

His brow raised nonchalantly at them, replying, “Do you want me to be?”

Something was fueling anger, but it wasn’t within Lucien. Zel’s lips pursed, anxiety and nerves from the night crawling up to the surface and trying their best to spill out. And so they did, via the enby snipping, “You always do this; you’re too damn relaxed about everything and it’s going to get someone killed! This isn’t the first time this has happened, and even now, you’re just standing there like a – like a dope, not even giving a shit! Are you just like, incapable of freaking out just a _little?”_

“I see no reason to ‘freak out’ when there’s no reason to do so.”

“Then what _is_ the reason, Lucien?” they asked, exasperated. “God, I’ve crashed more shit than I can count, I’m spending hours at the leader of the Deckers’ house, I’ve failed so many goddamn missions, I had a fling with that Morningstar once – and you never got angry! Actually, fuck angry; you don’t even get so much as _concerned!”_

It was coming out of them all at once, their words laced with previously repressed bitterness and confusion. For once, he didn’t interrupt them. They gestured vaguely to the exit of the garage, continuing, “When STAG was bombing the goddamn building, what did you do while everyone was freaking out? Saints were dying, Lucien, and all you could do was say ‘oh I’ll handle it’ and cause even more damage!”

“I hardly think that’s comparable,” he replied, his voice only slightly more subdued than it had been. “I was trying to deal with the offense, while others – “

“No, shut the fuck up,” snapped Zel. They didn’t know why the hell they were exploding like this; it was like a floodgate opening that had never been given the chance to spring a leak. “It makes you seem like you don’t even care, Lucien – like this is all just some game to you that you’re constantly winning, so you have no reason to worry, right?” A short laugh passed their lips, completely devoid of humor. They straightened their posture and threw their arms up. “I mean, what reason do you have to do that? You’re the big boss, after all, so what’s wrong with a few pawns fucking up and dying once in a while?”

Lucien had taken to gripping the bike’s handle, allowing one, then two seconds of silence pass over them before he asked as calmly as he could manage, “How long have you felt like this?”

Zel scoffed. “Oh, come off it. Everyone does; I’m just the only one who had the balls to say something, I guess. Not that you give a shit. Well guess what, Lucien? I’m sleeping with Matt Miller and he thinks I’m a fucking Decker! How fucked is that, right? I have to cover my face whenever I’m in Stanfield with another Saint because I can’t risk one of them seeing me and blowing everything up!

“But you don’t care, because why give a flying fuck about the little people, right? I’m no different than any other member in this fucking gang, and it’s fucking disgusting that you made me think otherwise for so long. Sivan? Stephen? Johnny? Pawns! You don’t care as long as you win, right? Our worries don’t matter, right? Us going out knowing that it might be our last doesn’t fucking matter to you because you’re so caught up in your own little world of car chases and blowing shit up that you can’t see shit in front of you when it’s screaming in your goddamn face!”

They took in a deep, trembling breath, jaw locked into a scowl as they stared their employer down, or rather, they would have if he was actually making eye contact with them.

Lucien wet his lips, replying even more quietly than before, “I do care.”

“Then for the love of god, Lucien,” Zel responded, exasperated, “fucking show it for once in your life.”

Silence passed over the two again. Briefly, they felt the urge to apologize, but anger and spite was still coursing through their veins too harshly to consider it. Zel turned on heel, scratching the back of their head roughly, and muttered, “I’m going to my room. Gonna get really fucking drunk and go to bed. Don’t fucking wake me up.”

The Saint didn’t move a single muscle, still staring down at his bike as their footsteps faded away into silence. The elevator quietly dinged to indicate that they had left, leaving him in silence.

Celebrating… didn’t feel like a very good idea at the moment. Moving away from the vehicle, Lucien stepped to another – one of his cars – and opened the driver’s side door, getting in and closing it behind him. His body sunk into the cushioned leather seat, the enclosed space making him feel a little more alone. 

His head lulled to glance at the seat beside him, brows knitting at his own thoughts. Pierce had sat there before. They’d sung songs together while speeding down the highway. Johnny had sat there, too. They’d been on their way to Smiling Jack’s. He’d joked that it felt like a date. In Lucien’s eyes, it had been.

Did they think this of him, too?

A headache was coming on, Lucien’s hands slipping up to massage his temples in an effort to quell it. The car was quiet; almost too quiet. White noise was buzzing around in his ears, growing louder the more he tried to stop focusing on it.

Thinking too much was never a strong suit of his. He’d always liked to go with the flow, ever since he’d joined the Saints and moved his way up the ranks; it was one of the perks of being in the gang. One could virtually do whatever they wanted within reason and get away with it. He thrived on that lifestyle and loved every minute of each day because of it.

His hand fell down, staring at its palm in the relative darkness of the car.

Was it hurting others?

Was he really so engulfed in his own fantasy that it was affecting his loved ones? His colleagues, his friends, his _family?_

Or had he been the cause for the recklessness of those under his metaphorical care?

Or…

He took in a shaking breath, hand falling onto his thigh.

Or maybe Zel was just upset. They had every right to be. People like them didn’t explode like that for any old reason; this had been brewing inside of them for a long time. What had he done to make them think that of him?

And… how could he change it?

A loud, somewhat weary sigh escaped him. The penthouse and the party raging on even though it was well past one o’clock in the morning seemed more and more distant the longer he sat there, while the backseat with its plush cushions seemed quite inviting at the moment.

…

He’d just have to sleep on it. He’d gather his thoughts, get some rest, let the emotions die down a bit, and then go talk to them. 

If they even wanted to. 

Head thudding softly against the headrest behind him, Lucien stared up at the dark ceiling of the car’s interior. Who he was addressing, he wasn’t sure. Zel, himself, perhaps an unseen force – any answer was viable. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, his eyelids heavy from a strain he hadn’t even noticed until then.

“I’m sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to get more comfortable posting oc works here so :') better late than never i guess


End file.
